Fic: Narnia, Caspian/Lucy
Apr. 10th, 2006 03:39 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lotesseThe Star to Every Wandering
Caspian/Lucy
Impossible love stories at sea, things unspoken and how the speaking changes everything. An au set during "The Voyage of the Dawn Treader."
The sea was roaring in her ears, the salt strong in her mouth and eyes, everything around her a blur of green and blue and the dark indescribable shades of deep waters. Lucy was more than half bewildered by the tumult when the stranger grabbed at her, helping her to adjust to suddenly being over her head in the middle of the ocean. His hands—they felt like large hands—trailed along her skin for an instant as they sought a hold to help her, and a shiver ran up her spine, spiraling in her stomach. There was no time for analysis of this. She was more intent on keeping Eustace alive than anything else. But when they had been hauled on to the deck of the great beautiful ship—and oh! it felt so good to be back on a real ship, to feel the rocking-horse motion of it beneath her feet and to hear the breeze singing in the rigging—it was quite a different matter.
When they stood there coughing and dripping, when Edmund and Eustace were safe and she could think of herself again, their rescuer drew her eyes like a compass needle. She knew him, somehow—curling yellow hair darkened by the sea, a face older than she had last seen it, but still recognizable. “Caspian!” she exclaimed, a great wave of joy rolled over her, swamping her as the ocean just had, but warm and eminently welcome. It drove all thoughts of those tingling moments in the water and Caspian’s hands on her skin from her mind. There were more wonderful things to be thought of than that. They were back. They had got back again, as she had almost thought they never would. This was Caspian, and this was Narnia. “Oh, Caspian!”
And Caspian it was; Caspian, the boy king of Narnia whom they had helped to set on the throne during their last visit, almost five years ago now by English time. Beside her, Edmund had recognized him as well, and was merrily clapping him on the shoulder. Caspian had grown up since the last time, though she didn’t think that he looked entirely like a grown-up. Had time had passed differently in Narnia once more? How long had it been? Five years had passed in England, but of course that meant nothing. It could have been any number of years in Narnia.
Her reflections were cut off by a sneeze, and as Caspian looked up at her from his merry talk with Edmund she realized just how cold she really was. And as Eustace continued to make a fool of himself, Caspian called for spiced wine. As they drank it together Lucy thought that she had never been so happy in all her life. She had been grinning like a hatter ever since they’d been brought on board—Narnia again!—but now with the spiced wine on her tongue and the salty, watery air and Caspian’s bright eyes she felt as if she would break.
*
With a sign, Lucy curled up on the wonderfully soft, warm bunk in the stern cabin. Caspian had surrendered to her immediately, which was very kind of him, though it did rather embarrass her. It would take some time, she thought to herself, before she could get used to being Queen Lucy again, and not just the youngest of the Pevensie children, the bookish one, the plain one.
There was a porthole beside the bunk, just at eye level, through which she could see the green-gold water swirling in the wake of the transom. Her clothes hung, dripping mournfully, in one corner. They already looked more dingy and uncomfortable than anything. Even though the spare tunic of Caspian’s that she was wearing was nowhere near as beautiful as her gowns had been at Cair Paravel, Narnia clothes were always much more lovely and light and silky than anything that was to be found in England. The fabric of the tunic smelled of herbs and soap, with a hint of the sea and under them a musky, woodsy, bright scent that must have been Caspian’s.
The cabin itself was small and lovely and perfect, jewel-tones and carven wood and the soft smooth motion of the ship, the fresh smells of the sea and the tarry cedar smell that clings about all ships. She could see the marks of its owner all about the little room: the boots in the corner, a heap of clothing set aside for washing or mending. A horn-handled dagger on a rack near enough to the bunk for an easy reach in the dark. A book of old stories lying on one of the three low seats. The linens beneath her cheek smelled like fresh air and pine trees and salt and boy, and she breathed in deeply, savoring it.
When Caspian came in through the starboard door, she blushed deeply, as though she had been doing something secret or shameful.
“I’m sorry, I should have knocked,” he said, mouth twisting. “This is your cabin now, after all. I just came to get some things.” He turned away, opening one of the lockers that lined the wall and pulling several stacks of clothing into his arms.
She felt as if he was trying desperately to not really be there, to allow her a privacy that she found she didn’t really wish for. Wanting to put him at his ease, she said, “Oh, Caspian, it’s no trouble at all. I was just watching the sea.” She smiled up at him, and again their eyes caught and held.
He broke the gaze, not looking away from her completely but still avoiding her eyes. “You’ve found…suitable clothes, I see? I am sorry that we do not have any woman’s clothes aboard. It ill befits the dignity of a Queen to be clad so, and I offer my most abject apologies.”
Something in the twinkle of his eye and the set of his expressive mouth convinced her that it was nearly all in jest, and she laughed, replying in kind. “No need for it. Your tunics are very good dresses, your majesty, though I fear that I shall have to go barefoot for a while. Unless I offend by my informality in the presence of the King of Narnia?”
“As if one of the great Queens of Old could ever be said to give offense to any personage, no matter how great. No, indeed, your majesty. You’ll do very well.” His eyes lingered over her again, and she felt her blush returning. The tunic, while not indecent, was a good deal shorter than Narnian dresses usually were. She was used to shorter skirts as an English schoolgirl, but this was somehow Different. She had been teasing before, but now she wondered in earnest if she should not offend.
But to Caspian she looked almost shockingly lovely. His tunic slid down off of one of her collarbones and revealed her legs, which if not long were powerful and shapely. Her loose damp hair was tumbled about her face and shoulders, longer than it had been the last time he’d seen her, though she still hadn’t managed to regain the length that she’d had as a Queen for all her trying. She looked disheveled and a bit wild and a good deal more sensuous than he would have expected. Time had flowed oddly again, almost holding still for him while it sped by her. Before, he had been four years her senior. Now, she almost matched him in age.
He had thought many times of seeing the great Kings and Queens again, but he had somehow never expected Lucy to be anything but a child. He felt as if he’d forgotten the proper use of his hands and feet and tongue, but Lucy did not flinch or draw back from his scrutiny, and that at least was something. And so perhaps it was not so bad.
Both of them visibly jumped as Edmund came banging in from the deck, stomping about in the boots that he’d got from Caspian. “I say, Lu,” he exclaimed, “Isn’t this a jolly lark!”
He looked from the one to the other and then opened his mouth as if to speak, but shut it again. “Come up on deck, you two,” he said at last, but in a very different tone of voice: quiet and reined in, with a veneer of merriment over it. Lucy smiled at him as she slipped through the door that he held for her, but he didn’t return it. He was watching Caspian like a hawk. There was no enmity in his eyes, only suspicion and warning and the desire for everything to just be safe.
But Lucy, already on deck, was quite untroubled by Edmund’s upset. She was in Narnia again, and on a ship, and adventuring. And if something else contributed to her utter joy as she stood in the bows looking forward with the wind in her hair, she did not know its name, nor did she think of it over-much. But when Caspian came to stand beside her and talk of things past and present, and their destination, an everything that he had been doing for the past three years, her smile could’ve drowned out the sunset behind them with its brilliance.
They were in for a lovely time.
Caspian/Lucy
Impossible love stories at sea, things unspoken and how the speaking changes everything. An au set during "The Voyage of the Dawn Treader."
The sea was roaring in her ears, the salt strong in her mouth and eyes, everything around her a blur of green and blue and the dark indescribable shades of deep waters. Lucy was more than half bewildered by the tumult when the stranger grabbed at her, helping her to adjust to suddenly being over her head in the middle of the ocean. His hands—they felt like large hands—trailed along her skin for an instant as they sought a hold to help her, and a shiver ran up her spine, spiraling in her stomach. There was no time for analysis of this. She was more intent on keeping Eustace alive than anything else. But when they had been hauled on to the deck of the great beautiful ship—and oh! it felt so good to be back on a real ship, to feel the rocking-horse motion of it beneath her feet and to hear the breeze singing in the rigging—it was quite a different matter.
When they stood there coughing and dripping, when Edmund and Eustace were safe and she could think of herself again, their rescuer drew her eyes like a compass needle. She knew him, somehow—curling yellow hair darkened by the sea, a face older than she had last seen it, but still recognizable. “Caspian!” she exclaimed, a great wave of joy rolled over her, swamping her as the ocean just had, but warm and eminently welcome. It drove all thoughts of those tingling moments in the water and Caspian’s hands on her skin from her mind. There were more wonderful things to be thought of than that. They were back. They had got back again, as she had almost thought they never would. This was Caspian, and this was Narnia. “Oh, Caspian!”
And Caspian it was; Caspian, the boy king of Narnia whom they had helped to set on the throne during their last visit, almost five years ago now by English time. Beside her, Edmund had recognized him as well, and was merrily clapping him on the shoulder. Caspian had grown up since the last time, though she didn’t think that he looked entirely like a grown-up. Had time had passed differently in Narnia once more? How long had it been? Five years had passed in England, but of course that meant nothing. It could have been any number of years in Narnia.
Her reflections were cut off by a sneeze, and as Caspian looked up at her from his merry talk with Edmund she realized just how cold she really was. And as Eustace continued to make a fool of himself, Caspian called for spiced wine. As they drank it together Lucy thought that she had never been so happy in all her life. She had been grinning like a hatter ever since they’d been brought on board—Narnia again!—but now with the spiced wine on her tongue and the salty, watery air and Caspian’s bright eyes she felt as if she would break.
*
With a sign, Lucy curled up on the wonderfully soft, warm bunk in the stern cabin. Caspian had surrendered to her immediately, which was very kind of him, though it did rather embarrass her. It would take some time, she thought to herself, before she could get used to being Queen Lucy again, and not just the youngest of the Pevensie children, the bookish one, the plain one.
There was a porthole beside the bunk, just at eye level, through which she could see the green-gold water swirling in the wake of the transom. Her clothes hung, dripping mournfully, in one corner. They already looked more dingy and uncomfortable than anything. Even though the spare tunic of Caspian’s that she was wearing was nowhere near as beautiful as her gowns had been at Cair Paravel, Narnia clothes were always much more lovely and light and silky than anything that was to be found in England. The fabric of the tunic smelled of herbs and soap, with a hint of the sea and under them a musky, woodsy, bright scent that must have been Caspian’s.
The cabin itself was small and lovely and perfect, jewel-tones and carven wood and the soft smooth motion of the ship, the fresh smells of the sea and the tarry cedar smell that clings about all ships. She could see the marks of its owner all about the little room: the boots in the corner, a heap of clothing set aside for washing or mending. A horn-handled dagger on a rack near enough to the bunk for an easy reach in the dark. A book of old stories lying on one of the three low seats. The linens beneath her cheek smelled like fresh air and pine trees and salt and boy, and she breathed in deeply, savoring it.
When Caspian came in through the starboard door, she blushed deeply, as though she had been doing something secret or shameful.
“I’m sorry, I should have knocked,” he said, mouth twisting. “This is your cabin now, after all. I just came to get some things.” He turned away, opening one of the lockers that lined the wall and pulling several stacks of clothing into his arms.
She felt as if he was trying desperately to not really be there, to allow her a privacy that she found she didn’t really wish for. Wanting to put him at his ease, she said, “Oh, Caspian, it’s no trouble at all. I was just watching the sea.” She smiled up at him, and again their eyes caught and held.
He broke the gaze, not looking away from her completely but still avoiding her eyes. “You’ve found…suitable clothes, I see? I am sorry that we do not have any woman’s clothes aboard. It ill befits the dignity of a Queen to be clad so, and I offer my most abject apologies.”
Something in the twinkle of his eye and the set of his expressive mouth convinced her that it was nearly all in jest, and she laughed, replying in kind. “No need for it. Your tunics are very good dresses, your majesty, though I fear that I shall have to go barefoot for a while. Unless I offend by my informality in the presence of the King of Narnia?”
“As if one of the great Queens of Old could ever be said to give offense to any personage, no matter how great. No, indeed, your majesty. You’ll do very well.” His eyes lingered over her again, and she felt her blush returning. The tunic, while not indecent, was a good deal shorter than Narnian dresses usually were. She was used to shorter skirts as an English schoolgirl, but this was somehow Different. She had been teasing before, but now she wondered in earnest if she should not offend.
But to Caspian she looked almost shockingly lovely. His tunic slid down off of one of her collarbones and revealed her legs, which if not long were powerful and shapely. Her loose damp hair was tumbled about her face and shoulders, longer than it had been the last time he’d seen her, though she still hadn’t managed to regain the length that she’d had as a Queen for all her trying. She looked disheveled and a bit wild and a good deal more sensuous than he would have expected. Time had flowed oddly again, almost holding still for him while it sped by her. Before, he had been four years her senior. Now, she almost matched him in age.
He had thought many times of seeing the great Kings and Queens again, but he had somehow never expected Lucy to be anything but a child. He felt as if he’d forgotten the proper use of his hands and feet and tongue, but Lucy did not flinch or draw back from his scrutiny, and that at least was something. And so perhaps it was not so bad.
Both of them visibly jumped as Edmund came banging in from the deck, stomping about in the boots that he’d got from Caspian. “I say, Lu,” he exclaimed, “Isn’t this a jolly lark!”
He looked from the one to the other and then opened his mouth as if to speak, but shut it again. “Come up on deck, you two,” he said at last, but in a very different tone of voice: quiet and reined in, with a veneer of merriment over it. Lucy smiled at him as she slipped through the door that he held for her, but he didn’t return it. He was watching Caspian like a hawk. There was no enmity in his eyes, only suspicion and warning and the desire for everything to just be safe.
But Lucy, already on deck, was quite untroubled by Edmund’s upset. She was in Narnia again, and on a ship, and adventuring. And if something else contributed to her utter joy as she stood in the bows looking forward with the wind in her hair, she did not know its name, nor did she think of it over-much. But when Caspian came to stand beside her and talk of things past and present, and their destination, an everything that he had been doing for the past three years, her smile could’ve drowned out the sunset behind them with its brilliance.
They were in for a lovely time.